


The Value of Tragedy

by goddamnitaisha



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, Mrs Shinra, Rufus Shinra - Freeform, mentions of - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 02:19:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10295333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddamnitaisha/pseuds/goddamnitaisha
Summary: The Shinra company isn't doing well. The cause? Bad public image. President Shinra Senior invited Mr. Palmer discuss this. Palmer says he can fix the company's reputation... at the cost of the president's family.





	

“Of course the company’s image is going downhill. The people are bored, Mr President.” Director Palmer said.  The man brought disheartening TV statistics to the President’s desk, right before the end of the day.

“Bored?” The President rubbed his mustache and gestured for Palmer to sit down on the vacant chair beside him. As he flipped through the folder, he saw numbers that would bring him another sleepless night. Maybe he would just remain in his office. A sofa here, or the sofa in his bedroom, same thing - less quarrel.

“Very bored,” Palmer said. The Director of Media & Propaganda sat in the chair and crossed his legs, then he giggled. “Close that report and listen to what I have to say. Everyone _loves_ a from-rags-to-riches story like yours. Everyone loves a hero, a _king_ of the world.”

“Except for Wutai.”

“Wutai is not important.”

The President poured them glasses of whiskey.

“I don’t drink-? Oh well, one sip, then. If you insist.” Palmer took the glass as soon as the President finished pouring. “What is important, is that the populace loves you, sir. They want entertainment. They loved you as a handsome young man, there was the princess story of your wife, enrapturement about your engagement, old-money-new-money marriage, and explosive joy about the your son... oops, there is the sell-by date.”

The President leaned back into his chair and didn’t like the tone Palmer was using. “My family’s not a product.”

“Excuse me, sir, but your wife would say that the royal family is everyone’s business because _you_ made it everyone’s business. Tee he hee!”

“Fuck that bitch.” He took a long drag from his cigar and spewed out the smoke. At least here in his office he could smoke as much as he wanted without a certain someone yelling at him all the time.

“Precisely,”

“Huh?”

Palmer smiled from ear to ear and his face looked as broad as a uncut loaf of bread. He missed a bit of his tooth, Heidegger had punched it out of his mouth. It had been reconstructed to create a full tooth again, but the material was whiter than the rest of his mouth. 

“Come again,” the President said, now leaning his elbows on the table.

“One thing the populace loves more than a success story... is a _tragedy_.”

“Palmer, no.”

“This is where Wutai comes in, and why it isn’t important and super important at all.: Imagine your perfect little family being brutally torn apart by the sudden public death of Mrs Shinra.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Right in front of the eyes of her son. All staged, of course,” director Palmer smiled. He stretched out his hands and using his thumbs and pointer fingers he formed a square - as if framing a picture.  “Blood everywhere, and cameras everywhere to record it. Very nasty business - blood all over the little one’s white onesie for extra drama. Close up on his face. Pictures of the event distributed to every corner of the world.” 

“To show I’m vulnerable?”

“Oh no sir.”

“I don’t like the idea, Palmer.”

“You do, you do. Because it’s all business, really. The people would love it, they would love you, the tragic single father, and it’s a good sob story for when your son rises to power. The death of your wife is a valid excuse to forbid everyone to capture Rufus’ image ‘for his own protection’. And he’s still young. In a few years, his face will have changed, and then no one will recognize him as a son of yours until you make him public to the world. Rapunzel, Rapunzel. He will be safer in the shadows.”

The president glared at Palmer.

It had little effect. “And after a period of silence and contemplation, we introduce the rage: our beautiful white queen, lost to the filthy Wutainese! Plucked in the prime of her life, yadda yadda hah ha ha. We create public outrage, and get a free ticket to get back at them with everything we’ve got. We can bring back manufacturing weapons and make that department as big as it was before Stiletto took over your department. We can bring out the toys and big guns, and whatever you have in that basement of yours.”

“That’s... not ready.”

“The Science Department, then. Hojo must’ve got something useful or he should give up his seat on the board to Hollander.”

The president sent him a glare that made Palmer talk faster:

“Point is, you’ll have the Bitch gone, the public’s support to start a war, and people won’t rest until the Empress is six feet under the ground. Wutai’s nothing without an Empress. When they’re in chaos, you will plant reactors on the last continent and arise as economic savior of that poor region. Bam. Economic world domination.”

The President downed his whiskey and then poured himself another finger-thick layer in his glass.

“Mrs. Shinra will be transferred to a secured location, 24/7 surveillance, and no money... but food in the fridge and books on the shelf.”

“The Healin Lodge?”

“Excellent plan, sir! 

“Palmer, you’re bollocks.”

“No sir, I’m simple.” He tapped his own forehead with a finger. “I know how people think.”

The president got up so fast his chair scraped over the floor. He put his hands on the wood. “We won’t do it. I won’t.”

“Think on it, sir.”

“I won’t do it. This is my _wife_ you’re speaking of, bloody Odin. I should mark you a traitor to the company.”

Palmer’s round face lost its smile and coloured two shades whiter. He got up, too, and smoothly glided to the president. He put a hand on the President’s red-clad shoulder.

“Think on it, sir.” He patted him brotherly. 

The president moved Palmers’ hand away with the back of his wrist. “A boy needs his mother.”

“Nannies suffice.”

“...”

“After a while, sir, we will let Rufus see his mum. World domination and a calm household in exchange for Rufus’ trauma of temporarily losing his mum. No harm done.”


End file.
